


Tired Of All The Happy Men Who Rule The World

by Haliwr



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Me? Projecting onto my characters? It's more likely than you think, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, my hand slipped, this is not a happy fic, unedited, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 07:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14015205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haliwr/pseuds/Haliwr
Summary: Connor McKinley is tired.





	Tired Of All The Happy Men Who Rule The World

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for a happy, plot filled fic you've come to the wrong place friend.

Connor McKinley is tired.

Of what, he isn’t exactly sure. He couldn’t possibly say what the cause of his utter exhaustion was.

“Elder McKinley, are you even listening to me?”

Well. He supposed he could say. It was everything.

“Elder McKinley, my family have disowned me. They’ve disowned me because of the fiasco with the mission president. What part of that don’t you understand? Do you even care about me? Wait – that was a stupid question. Because clearly you don’t care enough to even listen to my stupid bitch of a crisis”

“Elder Price, wait, I –“

“No. I don’t- it doesn’t matter. I’ll see you around, Elder”

Connor watched Elder Price’s retreating back with a sombre expression. He didn’t mean for things to go this way. He was supposed to finish up his mission, head back home to America, to his family, and live out his life as a good, normal Mormon man. But instead he was here, playing psychiatrist to half a dozen traumatized young adults the same age as him, on top of addressing his own issues. And by gosh, he had a whole lot of those.

Because Connor Mckinley was not as happy-go-lucky as he liked to appear.

He hated himself. Hated the shallow personality he displayed to all the world, of the overly cheerful discrict leader who everyone could rely on as a cheap source of comfort. Hated his physical appearance, his milky chubby stomach and his long gangly limbs. Hated that when he woke up at night moaning, with sticky splattered night clothes, he had previously been dreaming of attractive, barely dressed men, not women as should have been. Hated that each morning, he slipped on a mask before facing the day, as though it was as easy as brushing his teeth. 

And most of all, Connor hated that he himself had no one to turn to. He knew it was selfish of him to want another person to unload his disaster of a life onto, but at this point he found it hard to care. He was, to tell the truth, terrified that everything that had been building up inside him since he was a child, all his internalised self-hatred, was going to become too much. That his own feelings, as well as the feelings of the many who had confided in him, were going to one day going to break him, and that all the carefully crafted masks he had covered himself with were going to shatter along with him.

And all that terror and dread was making him ever so tired.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess you can call me Connor McKINley because I feel this on a spiritual level. Okay bye.


End file.
